


The Social Soldier

by lostmatti (kinaesthetic)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetic/pseuds/lostmatti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is on the up curve of recovery. It hasn't been easy but his therapist thinks it's time he reaches out and interacts with, not only his friends, but the world.</p><p>He starts with Instagram.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky and Social Media

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long while since I've posted anything. I started this back in May 2014 and wanted to revamp it. I plan to do a chapter for another character that Bucky interacts with and an associated social media account. It's all fluff. All of it.  
> Each chapter will probably be around 1500 words or more and don't worry, Sam gets his own chapter, besides this one!
> 
> This is unbeta'd aside from my own scrutiny. I welcome any critiques, comments, kudos, or messages. Enjoy!
> 
> Matti

Bucky’s on an up curve of recovery when his therapist suggests he should keep a digital journal.

Like Steve, he’s been quick to assimilate into the digital world. Three dimensional TV, holograms, Stark phones, and JARVIS fail to surprise him. Bucky knows that this part of him probably belongs to the Winter Soldier’s need to adapt to every environment. Plus, he—or some version of himself—wasn’t frozen for an entire seventy years. He had updated himself on technology on each mission, each reprieve from cryostasis. In this way, he can thank the Winter Soldier, if only for making him feel like an active participant in Tony Stark’s forays into the technology in his arm instead of a rather large, complacent lab rat.

“I have somewhat of a homework assignment for you, James.”

Dr. Theodore Winston, his therapist, is the only one that calls him that. He appreciates it. He isn’t quite Bucky, nor is he the Winter Soldier, but somewhere in between familiarity and anonymity, there is James.

He doesn’t have the heart to ask Steve to use it, nor any of his friends. He knows that if Steve says James, his eyes will say Bucky and there only so much disappointing one can do in the face of a heartbroken Steve Rogers. So Bucky it is.

Dr. Winston hands him a thick packet of the various sites out on the net. Bucky takes it with his metal hand, concentrating on taking it gently. Every gentle touch is still a triumph; his lips quirk up at the edges when the pages reach his lap without any crinkles. He flips through the pages, words like microblog and social networking stand out on the page, detailing the bolded words like Facebook, Twitter, Vimeo, and Youtube.

“Give one or two a try, won’t you, James? It might help for you follow other people, see what they share, and understand what type of things you might want to share. Use it as a way to show yourself that your life is a tangible thing. It can ground you, remind you of the things you do and see, help you to remain James when you may not be quite sure of yourself.”  

Dr. Winston leans forward, so Bucky looks up from the packet and meets the old man’s crinkled eyes. He’s never seemed uncomfortable with the young-old former assassin in his office. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“I can’t say I’m not curious. It sounds interesting.”

“There’s all sorts of oddities on social media. I’ve been told Vine features quite a few people well versed in optical illusions borne from intense editing. Though that may be a bit energy intensive, perhaps text or image posting would be a better start.” Bucky responds with a nod and a small smile, tucking the list into his jacket.

Dr. Winston returns the smile and makes some notes on his clipboard before exchanging a handshake and dismissing Bucky from his one hour session.

Sam Wilson greets him in the lobby. Sam walks out with him side by side. It always baffles Bucky that Sam treats him as an equal after he tried to kill him several times on two different occasions. He might not be the Soldier anymore but he still has his face.

Sam does have his own counselor, but Steve drives him to those appointments. That’s the Thursday doldrums, the three hours when both Sam and Steve are gone. Bucky holes up in Stark’s gym and destroys a few sandbags, trying to convince himself that it’s not his direct fault that Sam has to go back to therapy.

It’s doesn’t really work because it’s not true. His hands did that to Sam.

To Bucky, it makes things more than a little awkward, and even when he is becoming more comfortable in his own skin—and metal plating—starting a conversation with Sam can still be intimidating.

Fortunately, Sam has a talent for noticing and amending these sorts of things.

“How’re you feeling, man?”

“He said I should start keeping a journal using social media.” Bucky squints the tiniest bit at the glaring afternoon sun. Sam chuckles, unlocking the door of his Civic.

“I hope he gave you a good list, because asking Tony and the rest of the gang? Bad idea. We’ll be up all night. Then again, it’s not like that doesn’t happen anyway.”

“Do you use any?” Bucky asks, pulling out the list.

“Well, yeah.” Sam hums, pausing briefly as he pulls out the parking space and merges into the fiasco that is New York traffic. “I have a Vine account. Vines with the wings are very popular.”

Bucky snorts softly, locating Vine on the list. It’s on the sixth page, right after Vimeo.

_Vine: A micro vlogging (video blogging) platform, specializing in very short videos and very popular with the younger generation, featuring jokes and pranks._

Bucky agrees with Dr. Winston; he doesn’t think he would do very well doing videos. He still has trouble looking in the mirror.

“Let’s see, I have an Instagram and a Snapchat. My sisters wouldn’t let me go without one. Now they regret it because I Snapchat them entirely too much. I have a Facebook, too; it helps me keep up with my friends.”

Bucky grunts in acknowledgement as he flips through the packet, locating a pen in the console and scribbling some notes next to Sam’s choices.

Sam pulls onto a side street and parks again. Bucky follows him to their favorite pastry shop. It’s Sam’s turn to buy and he gets them each a different pocket pastry, which they eat on their way to an entrance to Central Park.

Barring awful weather, Sam and Bucky have taken up this weekly ritualistic walk, exploring every inch of the park. Sometimes they jog, other times they just walk. Bucky drags Sam into making mischief, playing pranks and surprising joggers on their routes. Sam engages them in more harmless mischief like stealing golf balls.

Bucky still can’t believe that actually happened.

Sam never forces Bucky to do anything but he does like to push him to take longer walks. Sometimes Bucky leads and Sam might occasionally coax him out of doing something­­­ truly foolish. Despite his own guilt, Bucky couldn’t be happier that Sam enjoys being in his presence. Bucky tries not to lean on him too much; no one should have to counsel their friends, especially the damaged supersoldiers.

Today, they jog to a secluded area of the park and climb the trees, which is illegal naturally. Bucky smirks as he uses his mechanical advantage and outpaces Sam by a few limbs. Sam is still griping about city ordinances and his clean record. The stiff branches and colorful leaves part as Bucky pokes his head out of the top of the tree.

He inhales deeply and savors the sight of the park from above.

Settling into a crook of a tree, Bucky balances his list on his knee and downloads the Instagram app. He juggles ideas for an account name while he waits for Sam to climb higher to him and catch his breath. Stumped, he ducks his head under a branch to consult the slightly winded pararescue soldier.

“What’s your Instagram username?”

“Neverleftthesky.” Sam huffs out in one breath. Bucky furrows his eyebrows but makes no further comment. It would be rude to question, especially when Bucky can spot a Riley reference when he hears one.

Bucky leans back, running through names in his head.  The sun drops much lower in the sky while he deliberates but eventually he settle for fleshmetalalloy.

He immediately friends Sam, and finds Natasha, Steve, and Tony by proxy.

\---

[Picture description: Sam Wilson, wearing a leather jacket, olive green t-shirt, and dark jeans, nestled into the crook of an oak tree, surrounded by bright autumn leaves and thoughtfully contemplating a handful of acorns.]

fleshmetalalloy: gotta love this dork @neverleftthesky for climbing trees and breaking laws with me. Awesome fall weather here in the city, enjoying it while we can…


	2. Clint and Twitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before the sun rises over the Big Apple, Clint lives up to his callsign by tweeting in the early hours of the morning.  
> Despite being up all night, Bucky's not sure he wants this particular worm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post CATWS, not AOU compliant.

Hawkguy (Un)official _@hitthatelephant_

Anyone wanna try my coffee pot for treason? Piece of shit spilled all over my favorite shirt…

\---

Bucky watches the archer tap out this tweet and take a carefully aimed selfie of the still-steaming stain on his soft purple tee. He slides his phone across the countertop to Bucky with ease, his aim as impeccable as ever; it stops right in front of the assassin, right side up and everything.

“You can’t tell that’s me right? That’s has to be the perfect match of five o’clock shadow, frowny face, and ruined shirt.”

The photo does indeed only show Clint’s pouty lips, scruffy chin, and coffee-splashed top.

Bucky looks from the phone to the pot of coffee to the sullen Clint Barton, master archer and deadly assassin, dressed in purple striped pajama bottoms. He snorts and slides the phone back in the direction of its owner.

“Come on, Barnes; answer me!”

“It’s fine.”

Clint strips out of the shirt before the two syllables have left his lips. There’s a reddened patch the size of an oven mitt over his ribs, glistening with leftover coffee. Clint balls up the shirt and rubs absently at the spot with one hand, and posts the tweet with the other.

“Did you just risk a second degree burn for a tweet?” Bucky thinks he might need to go to bed after all. Staying up this late to witness this madness was enough for one night. One morning, whatever.

“It was a calculated risk, Barnes. Though I didn’t factor in you being an ass.”

Bucky just shrugs. He watches Barton dump the rest of the coffee into a mug over the sink then chuck the pot into the trash. The sniper has to admit it was a good shot.

He doesn’t tell him so.

Clint downs the steaming coffee, black as the night that surrounds the tower and encroaches on their island of fluorescent light. He sets the mug in the sink and turns back to Bucky.

“What are you doing up so late anyway?”

“At this point it’s early, Kettle.”

“Technically, you’re the kettle. I thought they had that saying back in the forties?” teases Clint with a grin as he settles on the other bar stool. He reaches over and grabs his phone from the edge of the table.

“Course we did. Besides, can’t the two brainwashed snipers share their insomnia every once in a while?” Clint’s head snaps up a little too quickly, but he composes himself; Bucky’s deadpan isn’t quite a joke, but it’s not pity either. He was aiming for commiseration and, judging by the self-loathing grimace on his companion’s face, sniping skills also applied to emotions.

Clint studies him for an age and Bucky lets him, keeping his face neutral.

“Should have offered you some coffee. You’re so tired you’re making jokes.” Clint returns his hundred yard stare to his phone, idly scrolling thru his Twitter feed.

“I’ll be here all night,” quips Bucky; Clint huffs out a laugh at that.

Bucky and Clint have very little in the way of shared history. Unlike some people, he’s never strangled, shot at, or targeted Clint. In the last four months, Clint’s mostly been in and out on quasi-official SHIELD business, so Bucky’s hardly had the chance to so much as sneeze on him.

Steve thinks it’s best for Bucky to deal with the Avengers in vague group settings, in an effort to prevent one-on-one stress. He tries to remember the last time he saw Clint: Disney night a couple of weeks ago, probably. Clint belts out the Mulan soundtrack like no other.

“You should make a Twitter, Barnes.”

Bucky thinks over what he knows about the platform from his packet: 140 character snippet- blogging, hashtags, trending tags, and an enormous influx of international news that isn’t going to do much for his mental health.

“I prefer not to be restricted by character limits.”

Clint hasn’t looked up from his phone since their last exchange, but he does now.

“You do know that you spoke in one syllable words for the first two months you were here, right?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to decipher the deadpan tone; he decides it’s a joke and snorts appropriately.

“I reserve the right to abandon the account when I don’t like it.” He pulls put his phone and starts downloading the app. Clint pulls a face.

“Barnes, you wound me.”

\---

Bear Barnes _@fleshmetalalloy_

This app will be trashed soon. Do not get used to this.

-

Hawkguy (Un)official _@hitthatelephant_

 _@fleshmetalalloy_ Too bad sharpshootersmartass is too long of a handle, you cheeky bastard.

-

Bear Barnes _@fleshmetalalloy_

 _@hitthatelephant_ I have no clue what you mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> Chapter Summary: I'm so sorry for all the puns. Not really, but maybe a little.
> 
> Clint's handle: This is a reference to John Sedgwick's final words "They couldn't hit an elephant at this distance." right before he was killed by a sniper. He was a Union general in the American Civil War. I didn't even know that or his name until just now when I looked up the quote. I only know the quote because of my Pocket Book of Death features it in the famous last words section. //shrugs
> 
> Pot/Kettle: "Now the pot's calling kettle black" or shortened "pot calling kettle" a saying that refers to someone being hypocritical in a callout. Like saying "you need to go to bed" to someone when you're both awake in the wee hours.
> 
> Final tweets: Bucky's being an ass and typing in single syllable words. :)
> 
> Clint: Eh...pretty much Fraction run Clint, though I've only read a portion of it. when I write Clint, that's the one that pops up.


	3. Natasha and Youtube

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky slips into Russian and can't get out, but Natasha's not exactly in the mood for a chat.  
> They work it out regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know Russian, so rather than put Bucky's words in Russian cyrillic, I simply italicized the English because I don't want to butcher the language! Hope this isn't too confusing.

Bucky knows better than to sneak up on Natalia. However, he tends to avoid her when he can.

He’s been stuck speaking Russian for the better part of the last two days, so here he is, knocking loudly on her door. She may not answer, he knows that; she hasn’t the last few times. This time, he hears the slip-slide of a comforter and the gentlest thumps.

Natasha’s red-rimmed eyes peek out the door. Bucky takes a startled step back. She looks, well, tired. He can’t think of a single time, in his memory or otherwise, that he has seen her look so dejected and miserable.

The last HYDRA mission went pretty badly, but that’s all he’s heard from Steve. Both him and Sam were pretty tight-lipped about the whole affair. He can tell why now; Natasha’s apparent weakness looked…more than apparent. Her mussed hair looked unkempt, unwashed even. The glare she leveled at him couldn’t hurt a fly. Her cheeks had the rouge of someone who cried too much recently.

“ _Are you okay?”_ The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them and he takes another half-step into the hallway.

“Today’s not a good day for Russian, Barnes.” Natasha opens the door the tiniest bit more and he can see the exhaustion more clearly in the bright hallway light, her face pale, slicked with sweat.

“ _I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ll just go-“_

“Barnes. Just come in. You’re stuck, I get it. Believe me.” The weary assassin toes her door open wider and waits for him to come in; he only hesitates for a moment. Natasha does not ask twice.

“I’ll stick to English since you can clearly understand me. You speak Russian until you can speak English.” He nods. Once she closes the door, the room is enshrouded in darkness. As his eyes adjust, he sees that it’s not complete. The only light is the dim glow of a laptop on her bed, fluxing between various shades. A movie perhaps?

“Shoes off, outer layers off. We’re getting under the comforter and I don’t want you sweating it up.” Bucky obeys. Her room, her rules. He is just a trespasser after all. He toes off his slippers and socks and takes off his two sweaters, long sleeve shirt, and long underwear set. She looks him over as he stands shivering in his tee, boxer shorts, and bare feet.

“Come on.” Her hand warms the skin where it circles his wrist. He allows himself to be led underneath the bundle of blankets. He crosses his legs and sits still as the tiny redhead fusses over the blankets until he’s perfectly covered in them, then she sets another pile in his lap and curls up deftly as a cat, with other pulled over her.

“Pull the laptop closer.”

Baffled, Bucky does as asked, reaching out while trying not to jostle her. He tilts the screen back so the both can see it and leans back against the headboard. Natasha snakes her hand out and minimizes the video. Bucky’s eyes swim when he tries to read the Roman characters, but he can make out the shape of the logo.

“ _Red rectangle videos?”_ Bucky scrunches his nose at Natasha’s bark of laughter.

“Youtube, Barnes. I thought you were the hip grandpa around here.”

“ _I don’t know the Russian equivalent.”_ He shoots back indigently as she pauses her typing to laugh harder.

Bucky groans and lets his head fall back against the headboard. He hears the distinctive ‘thunk’ of the enter button and some clicking, then…howling?

“ _Wha-”_ He tilts his chin back down, but Natasha shushes him. She’s retreated into the nest she’s made of his lap and he only sees the tip of her nose. On the screen are puppies, tilting their tiny muzzles to the heavens and trying their hardest to howl like wolves.

“Idiots,” Natasha murmurs fondly. “They don’t know what they’re doing.”

Bucky allows himself a smile at that and they sit in silence, watching the dogs let loose tiny howls much longer than he thought possible. Eventually, he tries howling himself. It’s surprisingly easy; he’s got these pups owned. It’s silly, but he feels better when Natasha does the same.

“ _How long is this?”_

She shifts slightly making herself more comfortable in her compact state. “About three hours. We can find other cute animals to watch. I just happen to like dogs.”

“ _Are there any wild cats?”_

“You got a thing for cougars, Barnes?” Bucky’s face enflames at the speed of light. He swats at her, but she only laughs. Puppies howl in the background as she grabs a new tab and starts looking for tiger videos.

Tigers play rough with each other, but their antics don’t amuse him just as much as the dogs. He’s not ready for plain old house cats, though; when they’ve gone thru tigers, lions, leopards, and even meerkats, he concedes to homemade cat videos.

House cats, it turns out, are much more ridiculous than he could have imagined.

Two hours into the house cat adventure, the bedroom echoes with laughter. Bucky doubles over with mirth and Natasha’s prone form shakes with giggles. This time the onscreen cats bounce, leap, and scramble to escape a common household horror: cucumbers.

“ _They’re so fuckin-“_ Bucky sucks in a breath of air and wheezes a bit before trying to continue. _“So fucking stupid what the_ fuck is wrong with cats?”

“I don’t know, oh god I don’t.” Natasha rolls over with tears streaming down her face. “They’re just cucumbers, what the hell? Oh god, I want one now.”

“A cat or a cucumber?” Bucky tries to deadpan but his mouth quirks in funny directions instead.

“Both!” Natasha blurts and they both dissolve into incurable balls of laughter.

Eventually their laughter peters out to a pleasant end. Natasha sits up and pulls a stray blanket around her shoulders, and Bucky draws one over his hairy legs.

“Feeling better?” He asks, slipping back into his Brooklyn accent like a second skin, or perhaps his first skin, in any case.

“Much, thank you. You’re back to speaking American; that’s good.”

He snorts. He won’t bother mentioning that American isn’t a language. It’s the little things that make their interactions so worthwhile..

“You should make an account.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m no vlogger, Nat. It’s not like seeing my face would be a good thing.” Natasha aims a wry smirk in his direction.

“You could just favorite a shit ton of stuff and not post anything.”

He raises his eyebrows at that.

“Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! The last week of classes was last week and I had a million things due and now it's finals time so please please forgive me if the fourth chapter ends up being a Christmas present!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and as always thank you for any kudos, comments, or views, past or future!


End file.
